


Pass The Oars

by abovetheserpentine



Series: Is The World Strange Or Am I? [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, actor!derek, writer!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheserpentine/pseuds/abovetheserpentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t just show up to the Oscars in sweats and flip flops, Derek.” Or, Stiles reminisces on his life then and now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pass The Oars

**Author's Note:**

> I got requests for a sequel of sorts for this. I didn't really fulfil them, so I've set this up as a series. It's a tad inspired by the recent Oscars show. Hope you like! :)

 

~*~*~

 

He sometimes can’t believe how he ended up here at the Oscars, with GQ’s Man Of The Year on his arm. Or is he on Derek’s arm? Stiles doesn’t know, it gets a little confusing these days.

Stiles can probably trace it back to September of the previous year. Derek decided to let the whole world know about his feelings, and let _Stiles_ in on them second. Not that he really minded. After all, everything’s in order now. But Derek’s still emotionally obtuse.

Stiles is working on it.

“You can’t just show up to the Oscars in sweats and flip flops, Derek.” Stiles scolds a week prior, suppressing a smile. His boyfriend looks pitiful, staring down at the ‘midnight blue’ tux Erica picked out for him months ago. It sits on the bed, a little wrinkled and a lot classy. Stiles can’t wait to see Derek in it, _if_ he can get him in it. 

Derek grumbles unhappily, scratching absently at his five o’clock shadow. Stiles just wants to bite it.

“Besides,” Stiles attempts to saunter up to his boyfriend but abandons the motion at a slightly worrying twinge in his hip. He’s only twenty-four years old, for God’s sake! Maybe they need to ease up on the floor sex. It can’t be good for his slow, ageing body.

Stiles snakes his hands around Derek’s waist, and breathes into his ear.

“You’re not going to be spending a lot of time in it, anyway.”

He pulls back and glimpses the heavy look on Derek’s face before winking roguishly and turning on his heel.

“Don’t forget to try the shoes!” He calls over his shoulder on his way to the bathroom for a shower, cackling at Derek’s exaggerated groan. Stiles managed to babble his way out of a fitting – Lydia can no longer follow his incomprehensible subject changes. Actually, it’s more like she refuses to tolerate them. Stiles doesn’t care. Either way, he’s good to go. He’s safe.

Which is, he realises, a completely _disastrous_ way to think when you’re friends with both Lydia Martin _and_ Isaac Lahey.

“Seriously?” Isaac sneers the following day, as he throws Stiles’s suit onto the floor. Stiles is going to _kill_ Derek. _Traitor._

“Hey!” He protests, scrambling to pick the garment back up. A perfectly polished dress shoe stops him. Isaac takes his daily outfits _way_ too seriously. “I just got that dry-cleaned!”

“Too bad,” Isaac retorts, his voice flat. Lydia’s lips are pursed _ever_ so slightly, and Stiles knows he’s in deep shit.

“Lucky for you,” She says, eyeing Stiles up in a way that makes him feel like he’s about to get torn apart by a pack of ravenous vultures. “I have a back-up plan.”

She places a suit onto his bed. She must’ve been holding it before without Stiles realising. Which really showcases his absolute inability to focus because it’s bright red. 

The suit is bright red.

“No.” Stiles states, staring at the offending garment like it’s just beaten his all-time record for most kills in Call of Duty. In one sitting.

“Yes.” Isaac’s tone is unfairly smug and Stiles wants to punch him. Instead, he glares. Derek told him punching Isaac would never be a good idea, because then Stiles would have to pay for his reconstructive surgery, and possibly some plastic. Isaac would milk him for all he was worth.

Derek had a point.

“If you value your social standing you’ll wear this designer suit on Monday and you will flaunt it like you do all your ridiculous pun t-shirts. _Don’t_ ,” Lydia adds as Stiles opens his mouth to defend his gloriously hilarious wardrobe, “test me.”

Stiles knows a lost cause when he sees one and visibly deflates. He nods glumly.

“Okay, but I get to wear whatever I want to the next one!” Stiles bargains, grinning brightly. Lydia’s lips look like they’re about to split with the strength of their pursing but she suddenly gets a wicked look in her eye.

“Fine.” She says loftily, raising an eyebrow.

Her and Isaac leave with matching self-assured looks on their beautifully aristocratic faces.

Stiles doesn’t feel like he won at all.

 

~*~*~

 

After a meeting with his fellow writers, Stiles doesn’t have too much else to do with the rest of his day. Derek is filming his next film whilst Stiles and his team are in the writing room working on the second half of _True Zodiac_ ’s first season. Stiles tries not to write Detective Cusack in too many extremely form-fitting suits, but he unashamedly writes in a shirtless scene every few episodes. His boyfriend has a killer pair of abs, and they deserve to be seen. And not just by Stiles.

He bums around their house for an hour, making more mess than he cleans up and eating last night’s leftover curry for a late lunch. He rearranges his comics but gives up after remembering getting frustrated with himself the last time he decided to do so. He couldn’t find his favourite comic for _weeks_.

Opting to give himself some inspiration instead of doing nothing, he goes for his laptop. He happily logins into Twitter and looks at his feed. 

He has _fans_ now. Granted, not as much as Derek has or ever will have, but he has people who like him _and_ the way he writes, not just because he’s Derek Hale’s best friend. It’s sort of nice.

Scratch that. It’s pretty awesome. These guys have some extremely cool ideas and Stiles is always willing to incorporate their ‘headcanons’ into his actual work. As long as his colleagues are on board, Stiles likes to think his fans contribute a lot to the plot of the show. Crime dramas have always been Stiles’s thing, but it’s decently hard to be original. 

Now he can tweet replies back to his fans and feel damn good that he actually has something useful to say instead of trying not to gush over the object of his supposedly unrequited affections. 

 

Stiles remembers seeing that on Derek’s phone months before they got together. He felt all squishy inside and wanted to kiss his best friend right on the mouth, no matter how much he wanted to burn that stupid hat.

But that was a month or so after Stiles actually realised how much he actually liked Derek.

He often gets questions about how much he loves his boyfriend and when did he realise he liked Derek Hale more than just a friend?

Stiles never knows how to answer these questions. For as long as he can remember, Derek was… well, he was sort of it. Stiles hates that he sounds so cliché and romantic because whilst he loves giving flowers and grand romantic gestures he’s not one for the serious cheesiness. But Stiles can’t remember ever honestly considering he’d end up with anyone other than Derek. When he was a teenager it was always in the ‘we’ll have our own bachelor pad and invite over hot chicks all the time’ way. But as he grew older and those friendship feelings turned into actual romantic feelings, Stiles always figured he’d live alone or with a similarly eternally single friend, pining from the sidelines. 

With anyone else, Stiles would be all for the chase. With anyone else, he’d be pursuing the _fuck_ out of his love interest.

Stiles and Derek had been friends for years, though. That changed things. And Derek had always said he’d wanted to act, which also changed things. Stiles didn’t want Derek to have to become a front-page story. Being with Stiles would most likely end up that way because Stiles, admittedly, was regularly getting himself into trouble that would be a lot worse if his father weren’t the Sheriff. No. Stiles had never wanted that for Derek. He’d been content to wait. 

Then there was the fact that Derek was an extremely emotionally vulnerable person. Stiles didn’t want to put pressure on his best friend, who would readily enter into a relationship with Stiles even if he didn’t want to. Simply because Stiles wanted to, Derek would. After all, Derek _had_ told Stiles that he was the only person outside of Laura that Derek truly trusted. Stiles couldn’t betray that trust, no matter how much he wanted Derek to love him more than _just friends_ ever could. 

Stiles is merely thankful he didn’t have to wait too long, or even forever. He’s not sure he would’ve survived with his sanity intact.

He tweets a couple more replies before logging off and opening up the season finale’s unfinished script. One final shirtless Detective Cusack scene with some added blood and grime, and then he’s done. Cliffhangers, whilst brutal, are Stiles’s favourite form of audience punishment. He loves them too much as a viewer himself. He’s marathoned season three of _Game Of Thrones_ more times than he can count, and he _still_ can’t get enough.

He’s been finished for ten minutes by the time Derek gets home in the evening. Stiles realises he’s meant to have had dinner halfway done by now but he can’t muster up the energy to care. The script is done, and Derek is going to _love_ it. Stiles just knows.

“Hey,” Derek mutters, lingering after their slow kiss. Stiles is kind of addicted to the way Derek greets him. It’s becoming a problem. One he’s got to address. Soon. Yes, soon.

“Finished the finale.” Stiles waggles his eyebrows excitedly, and jiggles the laptop that rests on his lap. Derek, behind the couch, looks past Stiles to the screen below. He gives a hum of acknowledgement before moving toward their bedroom. His hand drags across the back of Stiles’s neck as he passes, and Stiles represses a shiver.

“You’re going to hate me, but you’re going to love me.” Stiles calls after him, and receives a distracted wave of a hand in response. Smirking, he sets about putting together a half-hearted dinner of steak and vegetables. Not his best, but not his worst by a long shot.

Derek comes back into the main living and kitchen area wearing the softest sweatpants he owns and that burgundy tee he loves so much. Stiles bought it for him on a whim about a year ago. His feet are bare and Stiles holds back a smile. How Derek Hale manages to look so cute and yet so sexy is beyond him, as always.

“How was today?” Stiles enquires. One of Derek’s hands lands heavily on Stiles’s waist, rucking up his shirt quickly to rest comfortably on warm skin. The hand pulls gently at the hairs around Stiles’s navel, and he inhales sharply. _No, food time._

“Sporadic.” Derek answers, picking up a carrot stick and chewing on it loudly. Stiles huffs a soft laugh. “Tomorrow’s our last official day of shooting, but my scenes are pretty much done. They’re just calling me in for some reshoots.” 

“You didn’t text me?” 

Derek swallows and pauses, looking at Stiles with a frown.

“You were writing today.”

Stiles breaks out into a grin, dropping his knife onto the cutting board and turning to cradle his best friend’s face.

“That I was.” 

Derek’s frown disappears as Stiles leans in and kisses him.

"But don't think you're getting away that easily," Stiles starts, pulling back to give Derek a hard look. Derek looks even more confused. "You told Lydia about my suit!" Stiles cries, pushing at Derek's- wow, _really_ hard chest. You'd have thought he'd have gotten used to it by now.

Derek looks only a little bit guilty. Not nearly as guilty as he should be. It soon turns to indignation.

"If I have to suffer, so do you."

"Ugh!" Stiles groans, throwing his hands up in the air with exasperation. Derek flashes a smile before schooling his face, walking to the cupboards opposite them to grab some plates and cutlery.

"I say no blowjobs for a week!" Stiles exclaims, shoving the vegetables into the microwave heatedly to steam. Derek quirks an eyebrow at him, and Stiles begrudgingly recedes his threat.

"Fine! God, my one weakness. Can't even withhold sexual favours, what _can_ I do?"

 

~*~*~

~*~*~

 

“Stop. Fidgeting.” Derek grits out, grabbing Stiles’s fluttering hands and anchoring them to his lap before letting go.

“I can’t help it.” Stiles snaps, anxiously looking at his reflection in his car window. Sort of distorted, sort of okay. Stiles can’t even tell anymore.

“Why are you so nervous? You were okay for the other awards shows.”

“But this is the _Oscars_ , Derek. The _Academy Awards_. How are you not freaking out right now?! I mean, you’re nominated!” Stiles jealously eyes Derek up. Derek and his stupid, filthily good midnight blue suit. God forbid they call it navy or Erica will have their heads.

“But I’m not going to win.” Derek says, like he’s just discussing the weather and not his possible future career accolades.

“You don’t know that!” Stiles exclaims. Derek gives him a look that Stiles has learned to read perfectly. It’s his ‘what have you been drinking?’ look. Stiles gets it a lot.

“Okay, fine, I admit your competition blows you out of the water-” Derek hits Stiles’s chest hard with the back of his hand, and Stiles feigns injury with a grin.

Derek’s hand drifts down to gently grasp Stiles’s. He intertwines their fingers.

“No need to be nervous.” Derek states, looking out the window calmly at the screaming crowds and flashing lights. He looks strangely content considering he’d been complaining about attending this very event only yesterday. Stiles can’t help but smile hopelessly. He’s so in love. He’s such a goner.

 _This idiot._ He thinks, squeezing Derek’s hand.

It seems like only seconds but must be at least five minutes before they pull up to the red carpet. Stiles is sweating only a little, and Derek looks immaculate. Although, when Stiles looks closer, he can see a slight strain around Derek’s eyes.

Closest to the curb, Stiles is going to be exiting first. The door opens for him, and he gives one last look to Derek.

“The night is darkest just before the dawn. And I promise you, the dawn is coming.” He quotes, and Derek laughs loudly as Stiles steps out and is accosted with too many flashing lights to see properly and a lot of voices coming at him from all directions.

“Stiles! Stiles, over here! Where’s Derek? Stiles!” 

“Love the suit, Stiles!” 

“Stiles Stilinski!”

“Stilinski, look!” 

He catches the last reporter’s shout, sees them pointing to something behind him. He takes a few steps forward, and takes in the sight before him. Laughs.

“That shit’s fantastic!” Stiles exclaims through his laughter, staring up at the giant billboard of Derek’s face a few buildings down. His boyfriend’s serious business _Grazer_ poster stares back at him. He feels someone come up behind him and knows it’s Derek. 

“You’re not supposed to shout out curse words at the _Oscars_ , Stiles.” Derek reprimands dryly into Stiles’s ear, and Stiles cringes internally. Great.

Derek slips his hand back into Stiles’s once more, and they move on. Derek signs a few things, and does a few interviews whilst Stiles just stands back and soaks it all in. If anyone had told him when he was sixteen that he’d be here he probably would have laughed in their face and told them to shove off.

His life is pretty amazing.

“Stiles!” He jerks at his name. He’s standing beside Derek, a little behind him so he doesn’t have to engage with the cameras but he’s still present. Their hands are still linked, and so Derek gently pulls him forward.

“Uh,” Stiles begins awkwardly, avoiding the interviewer’s eyes. “Hey. I guess.” He sees Derek tamp down a smile and Stiles deliberately steps on his foot. Derek makes a mildly pained face before rolling his eyes and looking back toward the interviewer.

“Nice to see you again, Stiles.” The interviewer says, and Stiles knows that voice.

“Josh! Josh, man, I didn’t realise it was you!”

Josh Horowitz stands, grinning at Stiles. Both of them go way back. Stiles remembers him interviewing Derek when he debuted in some shitty MTV show that somehow got ratings. Stiles loved it because Derek was shirtless about eighty percent of the time he was on screen. But the timeline inconsistencies were almost unbearable.

“How have you been?”

Stiles realises he’s grinning like a loon and Derek probably looks slightly uncomfortable and trapped like he usually does in these kind of situations, but it’s awfully nice to see a familiar face.

“Great, dude, so great. You know we just finished writing up _True Zodiac_ ’s finale, right?”

The interview probably goes on for a few more minutes of friendly chatter before Derek’s agent drags them further down the carpet. Stiles realises it’s the most he’s given any interviewer so far, even those who have heckled him. Josh is just super cool, and hilarious. Stiles seriously needs to banter on Twitter with him sometime.

The rest of the red carpet is a blur, only Derek’s warm, calloused hand a constant throughout. Soon enough, they’re in Dolby theatre.

Once the ceremony starts, it feels like any other awards ceremony to Stiles. He gets a little bored, but Ellen orders pizza and he manages to snag a piece for him and Derek. Derek’s category isn’t on until the last half hour, so they’re sort of waiting around. Derek refuses to engage in any hanky panky – “ _No_ , Stiles. We’re on live television, _Jesus._ ” “No need for that. Just call me _Stiles._ Yeah? Yeah?” “No. Just no.” – no matter how persuasive Stiles makes his arguments.

“So, Derek Hale, huh?” Ellen begins, and Stiles snaps to attention. Derek has his impassive face on, which looks like he wants to murder puppies (which is so not true because Derek _melts_ at the sight of chocolate Labrador puppies; it’s going to be Stiles’s next Christmas/Birthday gift to him) so Stiles nudges his shoulder a bit. His mouth upturns and he looks slightly amused instant of fatally angry. Stiles is full-on beaming. Bring it on, Ellen.

“What a hunk! Too bad Stiles has him all tied up. Sure you won’t share?” Ellen questions, winking at him. Stiles her a faux apologetic look, shaking his head.

“Let’s give it up for the happy couple, huh!” The surrounding audience bursts into applause, and there are a couple of cheers in there. Derek smiles a bit more and grabs Stiles’s hand. “Only been going out for six months and Sterek are already well-loved. Look out, Brangelina, huh? Aw, I’m just kidding.” Ellen pauses. “Sorry, Brangie, but you’re gone.” 

The audience laughs and Ellen moves on. Stiles feels accomplished. He didn’t even get ribbed at the Oscars. He’s _got_ to call up Scott after this.

 

~*~*~

****

****

~*~*~

 

The car ride home is pleasantly silent. Stiles tries valiantly to stay awake and manages to succeed with his dignity still intact. It’s probably a first. 

Their house seems horribly empty when they return and Stiles really vows to buy that dog. Derek would love it. Stiles would probably get a thank-you handjob, and those are the _best_ kind.

“So you’re not an Oscar-winner,” Stiles comments lightly as they both settle into bed.  “Pssht, who cares?” 

Stiles can feel the ghost of Derek’s smile on his neck. 

“I’m thinking Emmy, though.” Stiles continues, playing with Derek’s arm. It’s so hairy and muscly, Stiles loves it when it pins him down. But his body is way too exhausted right now, and the mood way too tranquil to even think about getting it up. By the feel of it, Derek’s the same. Maybe in the morning. Yes. ‘So you didn’t win an Academy Award but I still love you’ sex in the morning. Stiles is looking forward to it.

“After all, the writing’s gonna be stellar.”

“Yeah,” Derek mutters sleepily, and Stiles feels Derek’s warm breath brush his nape. “It is.”

 

~*~*~

 


End file.
